


Cantare

by AceQueenKing



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8235833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Dorian had grown up in House Pavus of Qarinus and it had been silent. He had heard the rumors of music, of course; his mother had told him many a time of the bewitching tune that she had heard when first courting his father.But the women of Qarinus were quiet and cold.  He listened, intently, for a tone to sweep him off his feet – but the music did not come. The melodies were harsh, off-tune; the words incomprehensible. There were sweeter sounds near him with men, but the music was so distant as to be unhearable, incomprehensible. But that would all change when Dorian Pavus met his soulmates.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luffymarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luffymarra/gifts).



 

Dorian had grown up in House Pavus of Qarinus and it had been silent. He had heard the rumors of music, of course; his mother had told him many a time of the bewitching tune that she had heard when first courting his father.

But the women of Qarinus were quiet and cold. He listened, intently, for a tone to sweep him off his feet – but the music did not come. The melodies were harsh, off-tune; the words incomprehensible and unmeaning. There were sweeter sounds near him with men, but the music was so distant as to be unhearable, incomprehensible.

He had hoped it was only Qarinus, but Minrathous had been much the same.

Until Hawke.

– – –

He was singing in the square when Dorian saw him, a guitar between his fingers and a dog barking energetically at his feet. The strings layered together in a luscious melody, and even the dog's barks felt like they were in harmony with the rest of the song.

It took his breath away.

He watched from a distance as the man sang in the Ferelden tongue: “ _You know Andraste's old mabari,_ _he_ _don't show up in the Chant,_ _and if you ask those holy sisters, Well, they'll say Andraste can't have had some big old smelly wardog.”_

The dog barked fervently as Dorian moved forward, as if to combat the lyrics of the song. Hawke bent down, let his dark black hair fall in front of his eyes as he petted the large beast at his feet. Hawke looked up after a moment of playing at him, a wide smile slowly forming on his face.  
  
“ _But all Ferelden knows it right: Our sweet Lady needed someone_ _s_ _ho would warm her feet at night.”_ Hawke crooned, making direct eye contact with Dorian.

“Hello,” Dorian said, swallowing. He'd gone so long without hearing the words that he didn't quite know what to do.  
  
“I'm Garrett,” Hawke said, holding out a hand.

There was music in Dorian's ears as he clasped Hawke's hand, and he vowed not to let it fade away.

– – –

His family did not understand.

They did not hear the music Hawke made with his fingertips splayed across his skin, the beautiful notes his deep voice made as they moved together in the night. They did not hear the haunting melody that Hawke hummed over breakfast the next morning, nor the sweet lullibies he pressed into Dorian's skin at night. The music was quiet, but it was beautiful, and Dorian loved Garrett with the furiousity of a mate.

But they had one another, and they could hear the songs, and that, Dorian thought, was enough.

– – –

“Ferelden, _amatus_?” Dorian leaned up from the bed, his hair messy but his mustache perfectly coiffed. A man had his standards.

“We've been invited by the king and queen, Dorian.” Hawke rubbed his beard, his eyes glittering in amusement. “When royalty sends you an invitation, you don't turn it down...”  
  
“Oh.” Dorian ran an arm down Hawke's side, entwining his hands with Hawke's own. “But darling, it's Ferelden. I don't have a thing to wear.”  
  
“You'll find something.” Hawke laughed, bright and booming, it's own sound sweet music to Dorian's ear. “You're always gorgeous.”  
  
“Alright, alright, we'll go.” He pressed a kiss to his amatus' side, music bursting into his ears as their lips touched. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”  
  
– – –

The road to Ferelden was better tred that he had expected.

The ground beneath his heels was warm and wet, yes, but the wagon barely got stuck, and there were decidedly less darkspawn on the road than he had been warned about. Hawke sat next to him, a proud hand on his back, and he did not mind the wetness, or the cold.

Instead, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the elements, beating a story through his heart: the wind whistling through the trees, Hawke's occasional hum, the steady drum-beat of horse-hooves, somewhat muffled by the barbaric dirt roads the Fereldens insisted on.

Hawke's hum had nearly lulled him into sleep after the seventh hour or so – but his ears perked up as a new voice joined the fray.

“ _Penso che un sogno così non ritorni mai più,_ ” a voice sang out; the melody was sultry, enticing. He wondered if it was, perhaps, a desire demon lurking in the woods – but surely desire demons did not sing Antivian sea-songs. Hawke pulled hard on the reins, stopping the horses. He turned toward Dorian, raising an eyebrow slightly. Dorian nodded.

“I heard it, too,” he whispered, grabbing his staff; Hawke did likewise. They both quickly dismounted; he fed Lumpkin, the more wander-prone of the two horses, a particularly choice carrot from his pack in hopes of buying her loyalty.

They stood, ram-rod straight, and _listened_. There was nothing in the air that had not been before – a slightly breeze, the sound of wind rushing through the branches. And then –-

“ _Mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu,”_ the same voice called out; it did not sound like a hunter walking through the woods, but rather a man in rather desperate straits – the man sounded stressed. Hawke gripped his staff tighter.

“ _Poi d'improvviso venivo dal vento rapito_ _e_ _incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito_!” The voice all but shouted; there was a desperate frenzy to the words. The man was in trouble, he was sure of it. There was something to his tune that made him want to go to him; some unmistakable spark.

Dorian took a step forward; he saw Hawke raise a hand to caution him, but he ignored it, shouting – _“Chi sei? Hai bisogno di aiuto?”_

“Why did you do that,” Hawke whispered, his voice peevish; he hadn't picked up on the distress, evidently, but he supposed he couldn't fault Hawke. Ferelden's weren't trained to pick up on the minute diferences in voices that Tevinters were.

Ferelden's sons and daughters didn't place nearly the emphasis on the fine craftsmanship of lies and falsehoods as Tevinter's did.

“ _Ah! Un a_ _nt_ _iviani?! Aiutami!”_ The voice called out, pleading for help.

“What is he saying?” Hawke whispered.

“He needs help.” Dorian sniffed. “And my antivian is still good enough that he thinks we're Antivians, too.”  
  
“He might be a crow,” Hawke muttered; the ground crunched underneath their heels as they walked toward the Antivian. “We should be cautious.”  
  
“Crow or not, he's definitively out of his element. Perhaps he's like us – a wanderer on his way to meet the King and Queen.”

Hawke threw him a skeptical look; he only smirked in response.

“ _Dove sei_?” The voice asked where they were; it sounded close by, a good deal north of them. Ordinarily he might be a bit annoyed by the neediness in the speaker's voice, but given that the man was in trouble, he could understand the desire to be rescued quickly.

“ _S_ _í!_ ”Dorian shouted. “ _C_ _ontinuare a cantare_!”  
  
The man obeyed his instruction, continuing to sing; using his voice, they were able to track him, finally spying eyes on the man after coming upon a large clearing. It was no wondering he had been in distress: the man was tied, upside down; his one foot tied in a rope. He'd been carefully hung just far enough from the tree that the man would not be able to free himself, and his rope dangled just long enough to allow him to dangle in the breeze.

“Oh, that's just cruel,” Hawke murmured.

“Ah!” The man twisted in the air, the wind blowing his body to and fro. “You are not Antivian.”  
  
“No, but we are here to help,” Hawke said. “How did you wind up – tree'd?”  
  
“It is a rather embarrassing situation,” Zevran sighed. “But – suffice to say – it involves the son of a rather illustrious Teryn caught in a not-so-illustrious situation. I believe he means that this would, as they say, teach me a lesson. To death.”  
  
“I...see,” Hawke said; Dorian said nothing, struck by the stranger's appearance. He was elven, with long blond hair and cheekbones that he suspected could cut glass. He could not fault the Teryn's son for wanting him; even with Hawke by his side, he could not help but notice the aching beauty of the man's face – the fine brown eyes, the soft tattoo that looked almost burned into the side of his face.

“Elven prejudice, my friends. It is very real. But if you do not mind...” The man pointed toward his ankle. “My head is pounding, friends. I would very much like to be right-side up again.”  
  
“This might singe,” Dorian muttered, grabbing his staff. He shot a quick fire-ball toward the man; Hawke slowed his descent with a bit of his own magic, gently placing him on the earth.

“Ah, mages. Your talents are so wonderful. My name is Zevran.” The man said; unlike most, he could detect no sarcasm in his tone.

“You're quite welcome. My name is Hawke, and this is Dorian, my– ” Hawke said; he placed a hand on the man's shoulder, and Dorian bristled; there was a melody there, unmistakably a part of his own, but louder, now. Hawke glanced back to Dorian, startled.

But neither of them had time to say anything to one another about this discovery, as Zevran promptly fainted dead away.

\- - -

They carried him back to the carriage quickly. Their elven passenger was light, but Dorian's thoughts were heavy – with every beat, he could hear the new song as he touched Zevran's ankles. It was louder now that both he and Hawke were carrying him; the blood-song burst through his veins, making him feel alive in a way he had not felt before.

This time, he took the reigns to the carriage, allowing Hawke to tend to their visitor.

“He's a rather pretty one,” Dorain said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Aye,” Hawke said, then sighed. “I suppose you heard it, too?”  
  
“I did.” He said. They sat in silence a moment; Dorian used the time to think. He had never been one to share, but something in him did not mind the possibility of sharing Hawke with Zevran. The blood-song was never one to lie – and it was well known that some songs could not be completed without multiple partners.

“Do you think we should – “  
  
“I think we can discuss it with him, when he awakens. If that's something you want. Or we want. Or he wants.”  
  
He caught Hawke nodding; relieved, clearly, at the decision.

“Do you think he'll recover?”  
  
“Yes.” Hawke pressed a cool, glowing hand to his brow. “I think it was simply a matter of stress. He has some cuts and bruises but – nothing life-threatening.”   
  
“Oh, I do so love life-threatening situations; particularly when they lead me to handsome strangers,” Zevran muttered, and both Hawke and Dorian turned toward him.

“How long were you awake?” Dorian asked quietly.

“Not long. If you talked about any sexy parts...Please go over that again, perhaps in a couple hours...” The elf stretched, languidly. “When I am more awake.”  
  
Dorian laughed, his own voice sounding Hawke's amused peel of laughter.

“Don't worry, Zevran,” Dorian said, smiling. “There will be plenty of time to talk.”  
  
He heart beat steady and calm, the sound heavy in his ears, but comforting and he knew, at long last, that he had found his home.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Zevran sings in this fic is [Volare](http://www.diggiloo.net/?1958it). Antivia always reminds me of italy, so it seemed fair to use one of my favorite italian oldies for this!


End file.
